After the Storm
by americananime
Summary: Logan and Ororo have a late night talk by the piano. Storm reveals a chunk of her past and there's a hint of blooming romance between friends.


After The Storm   
By: americananime  
  
A/N: This story is dedicated to MT, who likes a good W/S pairing. ^^   
  
* * *   
  
Ororo's piano rang throughout the house. It was honestly starting to get on Logan's nerves. 'She can play … but will she ever shut up?' He thought to himself. He checked the clock. Two in the morning. i Two in the morning and she was playing the piano!/i He muttered under his breath, trying to control his anger.   
"'Roro?" Logan ask, walking in. The lady at the piano stiffened slightly. Her long white hair flew restlessly in the breeze that was coming through the window. Logan could almost smell what she was thinking.   
"Logan. Hello. I'm sorry, did I disturb you?" She wouldn't turn around. Something was upsetting her. Ororo was always polite, and she wouldn't even look at him to talk to him.   
"Nah. I heard ya playin' and decided it was better than Nickelodeon or any of that crap," He replied, unceremoniously dropping into a nearby chair. She continued her playing, her hands flying over the bone-white keys of the piano.   
He stared at her hair as it moved with her body, which was moving with her hands. Her entire being was thrown into the simple sweeping motion that her hands created, her silk robe running over the black piano's seat.   
Logan sat there for a while, listening to the music and wondering why she was upset.   
"Ororo?"   
"Yes?" She ask, quietly at first, wondering what Wolverine was leading up to. He was a funny man. A very funny man, indeed. One's first notion would be that he had no brain and no manners, but the surface layers quickly fell away and those close to him would see something else. Something else entirely; a broken man, a hard rider, at the end of his rope and not belonging where he was. Ten years ago, if she'd told him that he'd be teaching a group full of mutated kids, he would have snorted and made fun of her grammar.   
Now he was different – she had no doubt that the Institute had changed him somehow; his closeness to the kids was uncanny. He understood – but didn't approve of – most of their actions. He was turning them into a team, making them tick like they should. And, as recent events had shown, it was working. Sure, they'd failed when Scarlet Witch had been thrown at them, but they'd had no heads up about that.   
Ororo's fingers moved faster. She looked deep in concentration, ignoring the strands of hair that fell into her face.   
"Ororo, what's the matter?" Storm stopped, abruptly, turning around sharply on the rolling piano stool.   
"Logan, I'll assure you, there is nothing wrong," She said, softly. Her eyes glistened lightly, trying to find the words to express what was running through her mind.  
"Don't lie, 'Roro, it ain't nice," He said, stepping closer to get a good look at her. She had been crying. All that time, when her hands were flying without error, she had been dripping salt water. iIf the Professor's piano is ruined, I ain't payin' for it/i, he thought.   
"Logan … you of all people know about past demons," She replied, sitting down on the couch. Logan nodded, knowing that a story was coming up.   
She lay her head back on the base of the couch, looking like she was trying desperately to translate her feelings into words. Her hair swayed gently, and her eyes seemed to be the only thing he could notice.   
"Yeah, I know plenty. And you ain't no stranger to the subject either, are you?" He looked at her closely, from head to foot. She looked like she was letting off a lot of stress.   
"You know those boys, the ones that were with Magneato?"   
"Wasn't there, 'member?" He reminded her. In fact, at the time, he'd been a bit busy with the new sentinel and healing his wounds.  
"There were four of them … Sabretooth, of course, and the mutant that had metal plates for skin, and one that called himself Pyro for obvious reasons…"   
"Who was the fourth one?" He asked. His hand slipped on hers, and she squeezed it gratefully.   
"He goes by the name of Gambit … he's from New Orleans … I was a thief once, Logan. Me."   
"You?" Logan, in his surprise, didn't stop to think about Storm's feelings.   
"It was a very desperate time in my life … but I knew him … and I know he's got plenty on me," Tears started to roll down Ororo's chocolaty face. Logan reached a rough hand, one that almost reached the definition of 'paw', up to her face and wiped them away.  
"Don't worry. That's all in the past," He said, trying to think of anything to say. She turned, silently, and began playing a tuneless sort of song on the piano.  
"Goodnight, Logan," She said, obviously wanting to be alone.  
"G'night, Storm," Logan replied, quietly walking out. Piece by piece, the history of the classy lady was coming together, and Logan saw that it was a ripped tapestry, much like his own. 


End file.
